


Seventy-two

by hostagesfic



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: F/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-19
Updated: 2013-10-19
Packaged: 2017-12-29 20:00:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1009476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hostagesfic/pseuds/hostagesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I didn’t change it for you,</i> Gemma had replied, <i>don’t get a big head.</i> Harry had laughed and made it a joke, <i>getting head</i>, and she had let him, but he still wants to tell her. Gemma’s never had to do a thing to impress him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Seventy-two

**Author's Note:**

> This conversation happened.
> 
> And then this was written.

 

Harry hugs his dad hello with his eyes on Gemma.

“How’s Oz?” Des asks, and Harry nearly startles, grins widely.

“I got a new hat.”

Gemma rolls her eyes. Her hair is blonder than he remembers. ( _you don’t have to change it for me :P_ , he’d texted her, after the wedding, when he was somewhere in America and someone had laughingly said he had a thing for blondes. He doesn’t. _I didn’t change it for you_ , Gemma had replied,  _don’t get a big head_. Harry had laughed and made it a joke, _getting head_ , and she had let him, but he still wants to tell her. Gemma’s never had to do a thing to impress him.) “I’m sure it’s atrocious,” she says. “Mum says hi.”

“Hi, mum,” Harry echoes, still smiling too big, splitting across his face with how happy he is. They hug and he breathes in the scent of her shampoo, two days old now, he reckons.

“Wanker,” she murmurs, and jabs him in the ribs.

Harry grins. “Not for seventy-two hours.”

Gemma looks him over appraisingly as they break apart. Des is wrestling their luggage down the hotel hallway, talking to Preston about dinner. Gemma purses her lips like she’s hiding a laugh. “Good.”

;

“Seventy-two hours?” Gemma asks, over dinner. It’s a game they play. Niall is just to her left, currently talking loudly to Dan about the state of football with a full mouth. Harry nods. “What, did you set your phone watch and it was exactly seventy-two?” She’s just giving him shit now. Harry feels warm all over, and he grins at her over the rim of his wine glass.

“S’not _exact_ ,” he says. “Just, three days.”

Gemma’s hand is cool on his thigh through the worn out material of his jeans. Her rings are pressure points that he wants to lean into. “You must be hard up,” she says, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes. She’s laughing along with Niall, passing Lou a plate.

She leaves her hand on his leg for another minute, and long after she moves it, Harry can feel its imprint.

;

They stumble into the bathroom door, and Gemma moans, low in her throat and raspy with the after dinner cigarette they’d shared in the alley behind the restaurant when Lou said she needed a fag. He can’t quite taste it on her lips, dulled by the dry tang of the wine and burnt sugar of the caramelized top on their bananas foster. Harry wants to taste her so badly it aches, a need far more urgent than the beat of his heart in his own prick.

He’d fuck her against the wall if he could, rut their hips together and against the plaster and expensive wallpaper until the whole goddamn hotel shakes, until the world knows what they’re doing and that they don’t give a fuck what it thinks. But she’s tired, and whining against his mouth for a bed, and he kisses her sweetly and follows her to it, turns off the light instead.

;

“So this is what seventy-two hours feels like,” she laughs, when he’s humping her thigh, sloppily mouthing the side of her neck.

Harry can’t manage a complete sentence, and her hand has found his cock, the manicure he’d jokingly complimented over dinner gleaming against the flush of his skin. She knows what he would be saying, after all. He kisses her and it feels like the first time, sees stars when he comes that look like the glint in her eyes.

After, when he can breathe, when he can speak, when he can hear over the rushing in his ears, when he can see straight; after, it’s her turn, and he opens her up on his tongue so delicately she screams for it, muffled into her hand and then his, the same way her whimpers are later kissed straight into his mouth as he sinks inside her.

;

In the morning he has a radio interview. He’s late for it, coming in apologetically on Liam and Niall, who’s already flirting like mad with the female host, and barely adding anything to the conversation for the whole thirty seconds left of the interview. He’d feel bad, but Gemma is still in his bed back at the hotel, and his body is littered with the evidence of their reunion. He signs a poster for the host’s daughter and only feels the slightest bit sorry.

When he crawls back in beside her, her skin smells like home.

He isn’t sorry at all.

 


End file.
